


Talk to you

by GlowwormiK



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-06
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-11-28 12:43:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11418246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlowwormiK/pseuds/GlowwormiK
Summary: POV Haggar.Zarkon and Haggar spend an evening together before embarking on an important trip, but they are interrupted by an unforeseen event.





	Talk to you

I am sitting in my quarters, waiting. I have done a lot of waiting in my life with Zarkon, but not of this kind. He is constantly busy, doing something important, saving planets or destroying them, but I am always at his side. Today, however, all chores are handled; we are supposed to move on to more important things, but he is absent.  
I can wait, of course, I need to read; I always have a lot to do and he made my life as comfortable as possible. And I don’t mean his extensive funding of my research – the results benefit our empire in the first place. But he shows great care when it comes to my personal space. Everywhere I go he orders to arrange rooms that fit my body size and temperature preferences and where I could be alone. He pays attention – from the first day we met.  
Not that I travel much in recent times. I feel old and lazy, so I spend almost the whole time here, in the main base. I even do almost all my experiments right here, except for the most dangerous and big ones. Going somewhere on a spaceship has become a habit of the past.  
I occupy almost a quarter of the main base. Laboratories, testing areas, stockrooms. My personal chambers are small, but they are adjusted perfectly to my tastes. I constantly freeze around more hot-blooded galra, so my rooms are very warm, almost hot. The rest of the base is adjusted for Zarkon, with his giant height and austere tastes, but in my rooms, furniture is low and soft. Here, I can sit with my feet touching the ground, not feeling like a child who accidentally entered their parents' room.  
I still wonder what is taking him so long. The day after tomorrow, we are going on a big diplomatic travel. With new breakthroughs in fuel and spaceship research, our fleet becomes more and more mobile and so more and more planets fall under our control. In contrast to public opinion, Zarkon doesn't rule just with fear and oppression. In long term, if people are unhappy, no amount of tyranny can keep them in place and rebellions start flourishing. No, Zarkon is far too experienced to allow that. New planets need to be integrated in the empire and for that, we need to find their specialization. Most of the worlds benefit greatly from joining the empire.  
But until we depart we still have two nights and a day. Everything else has been prepared, so we will spend this time here together. We need to discuss a lot. All opinions need to be aligned, actions in all possible situations discussed. We cannot afford an open conversation outside of these quarters, so we need to agree on everything beforehand. For the Lord Emperor to speak his infallible judgement, Zarkon needs to consult me first.  
And, most important of all, Zarkon needs to rest. Quintessence allows him to avoid sleeping for long periods of time, and he gladly uses this gift, overuses it, I would say. He will probably not be sleeping during the whole travel. This is also a way to intimidate those around him, appear invulnerable, almost god-like in power. Impenetrable armour, unrivalled height, superior might. But he is still mortal, and he needs to prepare for this marathon.  
The door opens with a swoosh. Zarkon is too big for the door, so he has to bow his head to enter. In fact, he is too big for everything in this room, so two steps are enough for him to stand almost near me. He looks irritated, as usual recently. I close the book and we stare at each other for a couple of seconds. Then he sighs and pulls his helmet off. I stand up. We have done this so many times that we don't need to speak and our movements are coordinated as if we were dancing. I come really close; he bends to me and hugs me. Our foreheads touch and I start rubbing the base of his ears.  
Zarkon's ears are hot and completely bold, rumpled after a long time under the helmet, the skin dry and wrinkly. Galra value rich fur on the ears, it is a sign of fertility. Zarkon wears his helmet constantly not just out of precaution; he also doesn't want to attract attention of his subjects to such unfavourable details. The helmet is as comfortable as it can be, but ears still suffer.  
I hug him tighter and try to kiss his jaw, but he inhales sharply and leans back.  
„I need a shower first.“  
This is so typical for Zarkon that it is almost hilarious. To an altean nose, galra smell weird. Their sweat has that kind of a chemical, bitter nuance that you would never expect from a living being. I hardly notice it now, but in the old days, some not-so-smart alteans used to mock galra for their smell. We are the only relics who remember those times, but Zarkon is still extremely self-conscious about hygiene and he showers extensively before each time we spend together.  
I make a step back and let him get rid of the rest of his armour. I could stare at him forever, but I don't want to bother, so I turn away and start removing covers from several pans on the table. He needs to eat, even if he doesn't feel like it. Zarkon used to be quite voracious when he was younger, but somewhere along all these years, he has lost his appetite almost completely. Now he eats only to survive. I am not entirely sure if this is another side effect of quintessence, or if he has just tried every food and grown tired of all of them.  
Tasty smelling steam rises from the pans. Zarkon compliments the food, but I feel emptiness in his voice, he doesn't mean it. For him, this is just another tiring ritual he has to endure before he can finally have his peace. I hear him open the wardrobe: I have most of his clothes here, for these occasions. He disappears into the bathroom, and I sit down.  
Zarkon comes out of the shower, wearing only the knee-long pants that galra use as underwear, the smell of shower gel like a cloud around him. I look up at him and my heart sinks a little: he lost weight again. He looks very thin without his armour, and also very old. The image that Zarkon broadcasts to the outside is that of power, so most of his subjects think that he is heavily-built and very strong. But the reality is that his physical strength is magically induced, and age has drained him. He is thin as a rail and I can see his very rib. Now that he has relaxed a little, I also notice just how exhausted he is. His eyelids are heavy and swollen, and wrinkles around his mouth seem to have grown deeper.  
He is in better mood now, though. He drops on the couch near me (the couch creaks), wraps his arm around my waist, rubs his cheek on my shoulder and grabs a dumpling from the plate. I watch him eat. He chews mechanically, looking forward, and when he does, his ears move slightly with his jaw. He finishes the last dumpling, wipes his mouth and turns to me.  
“I made you wait” he says, “I am sorry”. I giggle: straight to the point.  
“You wouldn't do that on purpose, would you?”  
“No.” He puts his head on my shoulder and sighs quietly. I raise my hand to caress his cheek, but he catches it in the mid-air and kisses the inner part of my wrist, then the palm. It is a wonder, actually, how he can be so intimidating at one point and so gentle in the other. His kisses are lightweight, no pressure and no demand.  
Zarkon moves and lies down. Now his head is on my lap, leaning on the arm of the sofa. He knows he is heavy and he tries to redistribute the weight. He is also too long for the sofa, so his legs hang over the other arm and his feet probably touch the carpet. I lean back to grab a pillow. He lifts his head a little, and I push it under him. Now that we are both comfortable, his eyes examine my face. Corners of his lips tilt slightly upward for no apparent reason and I can't help smiling back at him. He takes my hand, presses it to his face and suddenly inhales sharply into it. His hot breath burns my palm pleasantly and we both giggle. He turns his head and buries his face in my stomach.  
“Why are your hands so cold?” he asks, “Have you eaten?” I have, I reassure him. We alteans always seem cold to galra.  
I want to kiss him really badly right now. I can almost feel his lips on mine, but this is no more than an illusion. In our ten thousand years together, we didn't properly kiss a single time. We never were intimate in the altean way. We never kissed each other on the eyes. The reason is mutual allergy between galra and alteans. Any kind of body liquid from galra is poisonous to me and vice versa, and galra show stronger reaction. If we kissed, I would get swollen lips and itchy eyes, but Zarkon risks a full-scale suffocation from swollen throat. Skin is thicker, so we don't get any reaction during usual contact, but mucous membranes are an open gate for allergies. We developed a thousand rituals instead, of course. We rub noses. We press cheeks together and sit like that. We hug a lot. All of these are substitutes, we both know it, but this is the price we have to pay.  
To hide my bitterness, I pinch both of his cheeks and pull them up, forcing a smile on his face. With his big galran jaw, pointy teeth and heavy gaze, the smile looks scary rather than friendly.  
“What are you smiling about, little boy?” I ask.  
I am two years older than Zarkon and I will not stop mocking him about this fact until the day I die. His eyes flash dangerously, he suddenly flows into sitting position and grabs me, separating me from the sofa completely. Now I am cradled in his arms, unable to move. For a second, he squeezes me so hard that I cannot breathe.  
“Who's a little boy, huh?” he asks. “Who's a weird bald galra? Whose face you think you can touch just like that?” After each question, he clutches me shortly, making me gasp, and then covers my face with kisses. I laugh so hard that my stomach aches and wiggle, trying to break free, but without success.  
No words can describe how important these foolish moments are for me. With his constant busyness, with the necessity to hide my true identity in public, with this rhetoric about cursed alteans, I desperately need signs of affection from him. In my head, I understand that his actions speak for themselves, but still right now joy fills me, bubbling, and washes away troubles and anxiety.  
Finally, Zarkon gets tired of fooling around, seats me in his lap, wraps his arm around my waist and puts his head on my shoulder again.  
“Did you know that berroids lay eggs?” he asks.  
This man never ceases to surprise me. How did he come to that thought? Berroids are one of the races we are going to scare into submission during our trip. They are the last thing I would thing about right now. I look down at him; he gazes at me from corners of his eyes, a small cheerful spark still present in his face.  
“Are you joking? They are mammals, like us. We saw them feed their younger with milk. Why would you think that they lay eggs?” He grins broadly now, almost triumphantly.  
“And yet they do, that is what the intelligence found out. They lay eggs that hatch after two their years. Well, their eggs look more like huge leather bags with liquid, but nevertheless. That's why their newborns seemed so big and capable to our scouts before. Do you realize what that means for us?”  
“When they hatch, they probably recognize the first one around them as their parent, right? They will make good soldiers for the empire, since we can take their youngsters while they are still eggs and raise them as we need.”  
He laughs into my ear.  
“You are a very practical lady, Haggar. I wasn't that far yet. I meant that they are less mobile than other races when attacked, since they have to transport heavy and fragile eggs with them. I like the idea with raising them for our service, though. In the future, if the expansion continues at the same rate, there will be less and less galra in the galra empire, we need other allies.”  
He says something else, but I can't hear him anymore. After the word “future” has been spoken, I feel as if freezing cold water is running through my veins instead of blood, immobilizing my limbs. Ringing in my ears doesn't let me concentrate, and before I can produce a single consistent thought, the world switches out on me.  
  
I am hanging in the air, but not freely, flying like a bird, but rather helplessly, more like a blowball's fluff, floating with the wind. I see Zarkon far below me. He is standing on a cliff, completely armoured, with his cape and helmet, looking as regal and powerful as ever. But bitter fear clutches my heart; I know something is wrong already. I shout out to him, ask him to move away from the edge, but he doesn't hear me. I wave to him, but he doesn't look up. I try to lower myself to him, but I fail. Strong wind waves onto Zarkon, tears the cape from his shoulders. He squints, but doesn't stop looking intensely into the abyss. And then it happens.  
The black lion rises from below, huge as a mountain, his wings spread apart, roaring. In comparison to him, Zarkon suddenly seems as small as an ant. He is not intimidated, though. He raises his arm and stretches it out to his lion in a commanding gesture. The lion pauses at first, lowering his huge head, but suddenly his eyes start glowing again and he utters a new roar that seems to shake the ground. Another 4 lions appear behind him, and all five of them suddenly attack like a swarm of huge angry wasps. They all shoot at Zarkon, and a cry freezes in my lungs, because although Zarkon's bayard protects him, the earth under his feet cracks and he falls into the darkness. I am finally released from my immobility and try to reach him, stretching myself as long as I can, but at the time when I can almost grab his hand, a sharp blow comes from the back. Blinded with pain, I hit the ground. I am now pinned to the ground with a spear, like a butterfly in some crazy scientist's collection. To my horror, above me, in the air, I see Alfor. It is definitely him, his face and his armour, but he has grown wings and a waterfall of glorious long curly hair falls from his head, almost reaching his knees. He lost his soft smile, now he is looking at me with fury and hatred. I look into his merciless eyes and realise that everything is lost.  
  
When I wake up, I have to inhale as if I emerged from under water, my lungs are aching for air. Where am I? What happened? I am completely lost, my head is spinning, I feel nauseous and as cold as if I spent a whole hour in winter ocean. I cannot talk because my jaws are clenched with cramps and for some reason, my clothes seem to be wet and stick nastily to my body. Zarkon's face appears right in front of mine, his lips move, but I cannot hear what he says. Happiness overflows me: he is alive! He is unharmed! He is still with me! I feel hot tears running across my face, but I still cannot talk or move to tell him how glad I am to see him.  
He lifts me in the air with usual easiness and takes me to the bed, then pulls all clothes off me (it gets so cold that I shiver and utter a moan) and covers me with a blanket. He gets under it, too, and hugs me from the back, wrapping his arms around me and intertwining our legs. Now I can feel his touch with my every limb and there is nothing in the world that could make me happier. His body is hot and this warmth fills me from inside, reducing shiver and nausea. Now I finally realise that I must have had a vision, so I passed out. My thoughts are still a mess, though, and I am not sure what was real and what happened only in the vision. Zarkon gently bends my head a little to the back and starts rubbing my lower jaw. His fingers are pleasantly warm and somehow he knows exactly where to press and where to stroke, so very soon my jaw relaxes and I can swallow my saliva properly. Zarkon now rubs my temples.  
The lions were a vision, I understand, Alfor is still dead. We were here, in this room, talking about these egg-laying aliens and then I had a prophetic vision. Zarkon is really alive. This realisation eases me a little, but fear still lies heavy in my stomach.  
Zarkon says something reassuring, about how everything is fine and it was just a vision, whatever I saw. I listen to him with pleasure, but it is not words I need, it is his voice, deep and confident, as usual. To those he loves, Zarkon is a true pillar of strength and now I need this security more than ever. His presence alone reassembles my fragmented reality, that has been shaken by the vision. Finally, I feel a little better. I feel I can move, so I take his hand and turn on my back, to be able to see his face. A deep scratch goes from his jaw onto his neck, it wasn't there before. Oh no, I must have been violent. I want to apologise, but I suddenly remember my wet clothes and a terrible suspicion leaves me breathless.  
“Zarkon, did I pee myself?” I ask.  
“No!” he answers quickly, but this haste tells me that he is lying. Quiznak, how embarrassing. I didn't have any visions for quite some time, so my body is not accustomed any more. And that he had to witness it all…  
“Haggar, what did you see?” he asks impatiently. I can understand his eagerness to know, the vision was no doubt a prophetic one. I look at him once more. What should I tell him? Should I perhaps postpone it until we return? How can I load him with all these horrors now? He frowns.  
“Tell me!” he demands.  
I have no choice, no right to hide this from him, so I do tell. I expect any kind of reaction, but not what I see. Zarkon grabs my by the shoulders and shakes me. “My lion was there!” he exclaims, “Haggar, are you sure you saw Black?” I nod. Did he even listen to me? Voltron will return and bring him to his demise, and all he thinks about is his toy from millennia ago? Zarkon seems oblivious to my concern, though. He bubbles with the kind of passion I didn't see from him for a long time.  
“So Alfor didn't destroy the lions after all! I knew he couldn't. And now, with Black, I will be invincible, nothing shall stand in my way.”  
It isn't about power, though, this is obvious. The empire is as stable and strong as ever, he doesn't need Voltron or any of its lions. It is about our youth and about Alfor's treason. He wants revenge. Do I have the right to stop him? After all, the lions are truly a formidable weapon...  
“Alfor was also there” I remind Zarkon. “He killed me, and his lions killed you.” Zarkon pauses and looks at me.  
“Alfor is dead.” he says, “I cut his head off with my bayard. There is no way that he has survived.”  
“Perhaps Alfor symbolizes the return of Altea? Generally, the alteans? I just saw him because I remember him the best?”  
Zarkon doesn't seem convinced. We remain silent for a minute. Finally, he winces a little.  
“Alfor had a daughter. And unlike her father, I did not see her body with my own eyes. Her name was Allura.” he says slowly. Cold sweat runs along my spine. If any alteans other than me managed to survive, this is a huge, unpredictable threat.  
“It has been ten thousand years.” I answer, but it feels like an excuse. “No one on Altea but me has experimented with quintessence enough to make it prolong lives, and you know how much effort it took. There is no way that she could found it out on her own! And, moreover, where could she hide all this time?”  
“She didn't have to hide if she was in stasis. She is probably still sleeping, but will wake up soon, and lions with her.”  
“But why now?” I feel desperate.  
“I don't know, you are the prophet, you tell me.”  
We look at each other for a couple of seconds. We both know that we need to act, prevent this threat somehow, but there is no entering point, no clue to grab on.  
“Did you recognize the landscape?” Zarkon asks, “Perhaps it is the place where Alfor's daughter is being hidden?” I shake my head, I never saw the place.  
“You will have to look through planets in our registers, try to find something that matches your vision,” Zarkon has turned into his usual, decisive self. “Also, reach out with magic, search for altean energy, anything that resembles it.”  
“Search where?” I ask, “Your empire is too big even for me.” Zarkon doesn't answer. What can he say? He cannot give me any directions or help in any way.  
“Avoid big planets, try looking on smaller agrarian worlds.” he suggests finally.  
“Big cities are ideal to hide in plain sight.” I contradict, but I cannot offer any other ideas. We both stay silent for a while again.  
“I will order to make extra radar scans on regular basis. The lions have an energy signature, we will be able to detect them if they appear.”  
“Be careful,” I don't usually say such things to him, he doesn't tolerate being restricted, even by me, but right now I cannot avoid this topic. “Please, under no conditions try to fight them alone! Don't get carried away, you have armies to do this job for you!”  
Zarkon frowns.  
“What do you think I am, a three-year-old?” he asks angrily. Phew, he is not about to get into his jet and rush out to search for his lost weapon. Perhaps his joy was less reckless than I thought, after all. I stroke his hand soothingly, saying I am sorry without words.  
“The diplomatic mission still stands, though.” he adds, “I am going there. You should stay on the main base and search for alteans.”  
“No! What if those alteans are on one of planets that you are going to visit! What if they attack you? I need to be by your side, especially now, with this new threat!”  
Oh no, I should have known better than say those words. His face gets darker.  
“Haggar, I am perfectly capable to protect myself on my own.”  
No, this is not what I intended.  
“I know, but what if they attack with magic?”  
“There is no magic that can stop me.”  
“Zarkon, I need to come with you. If the vision starts to fulfil itself during the trip, we will need to act together for maximum efficiency.”  
Efficiency is one fact he cannot argue again. He knows he needs both my skill and my advice.  
“Fine.” he says. “We shall go together, but then you need to order druids to scan for the alteans for you.” I nod.  
We lie in silence, but neither of us sleeps. There is nothing we can do about the vision for now, but the uneasiness is there, almost palpable. Finally, Zarkon's breath gets slower and deeper, and I feel his mind blanking out. I lie for some time more, trying to think about ways to find the alteans without having to scan the whole universe, but no ideas come to me. Finally, the fatigue takes the better of me and I allow myself to slide into slumber.  
Little do I know that the prophecy will fulfil itself faster than we could imagine and in the most terrible way possible. I cannot imagine that in just few months Zarkon will ignore my pleas and enter the most ridiculous, unnecessary fight he ever took part in; that this fight will end in his demise, just as predicted. That I will not be able to help him, no matter how hard I try. That I will have to watch him, broken, on the verge of death, helplessly. That our creation, our empire, will start falling apart like a poorly baked cake. That our son will befriend our foes instead of avenging his father. But for now, I listen to Zarkon's snuffling and feel his heavy arm on my shoulder and this feels like the most wonderful evening ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't beat me too much >.<


End file.
